This video of fish making music underwater is pretty dope...
Last night I got to talk to some college students who were very happy about Barack Obama's recent election to the presidency. They acknowledged that many of his statements were directly socialism, but were also quite sure that "socialism doesn't have to be a bad thing", and "Obama's kind of socialism is different".
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
More on President Bush
The Wall Street Journal ran an opinion piece today which expressed many of the same sentiments as I did in yesterday's post.
Obama supporters have every reason to be jubilant; I congratulate them and hope for all our sakes that the reality of Obama as President lives up to the image of Obama as Icon.
I disagreed with many of the President's policies. I always knew that he proposed them with the intention of leading America into what he hoped would be her best days.
Perhaps with their appetites for change appeased, Americans can now take some time to pay proper tribute to the last eight years and the man who seemed to give so much in thankless service to his country.
Obama supporters have every reason to be jubilant; I congratulate them and hope for all our sakes that the reality of Obama as President lives up to the image of Obama as Icon.
I disagreed with many of the President's policies. I always knew that he proposed them with the intention of leading America into what he hoped would be her best days.
Perhaps with their appetites for change appeased, Americans can now take some time to pay proper tribute to the last eight years and the man who seemed to give so much in thankless service to his country.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Requiem for a Heavyweight
Although the presidency of George W. Bush won't officially end for a few more weeks, today marks the beginning of the denouement in the story of one of America's most unlikely and beleaguered leaders. For most Americans, Bush has served as the symbol and the scapegoat for a difficult near-decade in which we as a country returned to the gritty reality of defending ourselves from enemies and living within our means.
We grew fat and numb in the giddy, worry-free Clinton administration, which spent so much of its time trying to implement social (and sometimes socialist) political and economic experiments; in those days, ideals--whether universal health care or a working Internet--took the forefront of our consciousness and we felt no threats. The Soviet Union had disappeared and house prices had plummeted; our biggest national issue was whether or not infidelity was an impeachable offense.
Then, 9/11. The day that we swore we would never forget, that would change our lives forever. The day that Bush went from being an overgrown governor, charismatic but unfocused, to a fledgling president. Suddenly we were faced with what both supporters and detractors secretly feared: what he said and how he said it mattered. On a fundamental level, Bush staked his legacy on two policies which proved controversial but from which he never wavered: the War on Terrorism and tax cuts.
Bush has been so effective in fighting al-Qaeda that most Americans have been able to forget it existed. While bad news in Iraq dominated the front pages, the increasingly good news coming from that region has been swept under the rug. The actions of previous presidents led to the development of a hypothesis among militants--call it the Bin Laden doctrine: hit America hard enough, and they will run if they can, or turn the other way and ignore it if they can't. This theory was tested and proved over and over again: Somalia, Manhattan, Riyadh, the USS Cole, in many other places where American interests were threatened by an increasingly organized al-Qaeda.
Surely, these militants thought, a large-scale attack on the homeland will so frighten and overwhelm the Americans that, although they may put up a good front, they will take a policy of deeper avoidance and acquiescence. Further, a major attack, showing America's vulnerability once and for all, would galvanize disgruntled Muslims into a threat which would lay the ground for their ideological objectives.
None of that happened. America's casualty rate in Iraq and Afghanistan, while tragic, has never approached that of other major wars. The simple fact is--we are safer now than we were eight years ago, and many parts of the globe are better off.
Bush has taken the blame for things which a.) weren't his fault and b.) were grossly overexaggerated in terms of how disastrous they were. How could a human being be blamed for the stubbornness of New Orleans residents who were recorded on the local news saying they wouldn't evacuate for Katrina, that they would rather die in New Orleans than survive somewhere else. The false reports of atrocities in the shelters afterwards should have led to the resignation of major media pundits for irresponsibility; instead, they didn't even lead to apologies.
With few and brief exceptions, the media has consistently projected the perception of a collapsing nation mismanaged by a bumbling leader. President Bush came into office as a charming, likeable leader; the gravity of the crises he faced have aged him considerably, forcing him into an unpopular position of dealing with unpleasant realities. History may never give him his due, but in many ways he has been the voice we needed rather than the image we wanted; he has taken seriously his vows to protect the safety of American citizens and enforce the American ideal of encouraging rather than punishing economic achievement.
If no one else says it, I will: Thank you, Mr. President. Liberals and conservatives alike have deserted you, but you have tried to lead a divided nation through some of its most difficult days. You did not choose the challenges, and at times you made mistakes, but it was evident that you gave your sincerest efforts to the job. You do not deserve the scorn heaped on you, and you will probably never get the honest assessment you deserve--the one through an unbiased lens which paints you as an executive faced with unprecedented challenges who seemed to sometimes buckle but to never collapse.
History may not remember your strength, your courage, or your vision, but some of us will see beyond the easy caricatures and gross overgeneralizations of which you were all too often the target. Somehow, I think you will be at peace with that. You didn't sign up to be admired, now or in generations to ocme; you signed up to do what you thought was right.
I can only hope whoever takes your place will do the same.
We grew fat and numb in the giddy, worry-free Clinton administration, which spent so much of its time trying to implement social (and sometimes socialist) political and economic experiments; in those days, ideals--whether universal health care or a working Internet--took the forefront of our consciousness and we felt no threats. The Soviet Union had disappeared and house prices had plummeted; our biggest national issue was whether or not infidelity was an impeachable offense.
Then, 9/11. The day that we swore we would never forget, that would change our lives forever. The day that Bush went from being an overgrown governor, charismatic but unfocused, to a fledgling president. Suddenly we were faced with what both supporters and detractors secretly feared: what he said and how he said it mattered. On a fundamental level, Bush staked his legacy on two policies which proved controversial but from which he never wavered: the War on Terrorism and tax cuts.
Bush has been so effective in fighting al-Qaeda that most Americans have been able to forget it existed. While bad news in Iraq dominated the front pages, the increasingly good news coming from that region has been swept under the rug. The actions of previous presidents led to the development of a hypothesis among militants--call it the Bin Laden doctrine: hit America hard enough, and they will run if they can, or turn the other way and ignore it if they can't. This theory was tested and proved over and over again: Somalia, Manhattan, Riyadh, the USS Cole, in many other places where American interests were threatened by an increasingly organized al-Qaeda.
Surely, these militants thought, a large-scale attack on the homeland will so frighten and overwhelm the Americans that, although they may put up a good front, they will take a policy of deeper avoidance and acquiescence. Further, a major attack, showing America's vulnerability once and for all, would galvanize disgruntled Muslims into a threat which would lay the ground for their ideological objectives.
None of that happened. America's casualty rate in Iraq and Afghanistan, while tragic, has never approached that of other major wars. The simple fact is--we are safer now than we were eight years ago, and many parts of the globe are better off.
Bush has taken the blame for things which a.) weren't his fault and b.) were grossly overexaggerated in terms of how disastrous they were. How could a human being be blamed for the stubbornness of New Orleans residents who were recorded on the local news saying they wouldn't evacuate for Katrina, that they would rather die in New Orleans than survive somewhere else. The false reports of atrocities in the shelters afterwards should have led to the resignation of major media pundits for irresponsibility; instead, they didn't even lead to apologies.
With few and brief exceptions, the media has consistently projected the perception of a collapsing nation mismanaged by a bumbling leader. President Bush came into office as a charming, likeable leader; the gravity of the crises he faced have aged him considerably, forcing him into an unpopular position of dealing with unpleasant realities. History may never give him his due, but in many ways he has been the voice we needed rather than the image we wanted; he has taken seriously his vows to protect the safety of American citizens and enforce the American ideal of encouraging rather than punishing economic achievement.
If no one else says it, I will: Thank you, Mr. President. Liberals and conservatives alike have deserted you, but you have tried to lead a divided nation through some of its most difficult days. You did not choose the challenges, and at times you made mistakes, but it was evident that you gave your sincerest efforts to the job. You do not deserve the scorn heaped on you, and you will probably never get the honest assessment you deserve--the one through an unbiased lens which paints you as an executive faced with unprecedented challenges who seemed to sometimes buckle but to never collapse.
History may not remember your strength, your courage, or your vision, but some of us will see beyond the easy caricatures and gross overgeneralizations of which you were all too often the target. Somehow, I think you will be at peace with that. You didn't sign up to be admired, now or in generations to ocme; you signed up to do what you thought was right.
I can only hope whoever takes your place will do the same.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Sunday, August 3, 2008
the conspiracy theory.
I could write a script in many languages about the reality I experience. As long as I'm making money, the words flow. I love Pulp Fiction--both the movie and the multigenerational genre of paperbacks. I love porn; 1970s stuff is the best. I have a working knowledge of both point-set topology and the noncommercial radio business. I've appeared on compilation albums covering both nerdcore rap and super-cheap toy instrumentals. I have an uncanny ability to become platonic friends with strippers and to turn otherwise straight-laced women into phone sex whores.
This isn't a cover letter; no resume is enclosed. I'm just trying to let y'all know that I have a couple of mixtapes due in the next few weeks.
But what I really wanted to say was that the iBuzz (which, by the way, has undergone a legal struggle similar to that of file sharing networks) and a story like this make the words "g-spot" and "amplification" take on a whole new set of meanings.
This isn't a cover letter; no resume is enclosed. I'm just trying to let y'all know that I have a couple of mixtapes due in the next few weeks.
But what I really wanted to say was that the iBuzz (which, by the way, has undergone a legal struggle similar to that of file sharing networks) and a story like this make the words "g-spot" and "amplification" take on a whole new set of meanings.
Friday, July 25, 2008
ShoutOut to YTCracker and TrainReq...and other general thoughts
Y'all killed it with these Miley Cyrus pics...
There is always room for improvement, but for this abstract hedonistic idea space that passes for my career, things are pretty excellent right now. Lesbianism is taking over pop music They made me a dystopian robot love story as a movie for kids (just wait until the scandalous pictures of Wall-E and Eve hit the wirewaves) and I got Human League and Billy Ocean cassettes at Goodwill yesterday for just a dollar.
In short, life is good. I'm happy. Y'all are real. End transmission.
There is always room for improvement, but for this abstract hedonistic idea space that passes for my career, things are pretty excellent right now. Lesbianism is taking over pop music They made me a dystopian robot love story as a movie for kids (just wait until the scandalous pictures of Wall-E and Eve hit the wirewaves) and I got Human League and Billy Ocean cassettes at Goodwill yesterday for just a dollar.
In short, life is good. I'm happy. Y'all are real. End transmission.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Interview with Bill Margold on the History of Porn...
Producer Bill Margold has been in the adult film game for nearly four decades. I recently caught up with him to get his thoughts on, among many other things, the changes that he's seen during his time in the business. Here is an excerpt from that interview.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Proliferation
Read literally, the tenets of several major world religions prohibit the creation of realistic images. Many strict adherents of Islam take this very seriously--hence the incredible geometric art of the al-Hambra and other Moorish places in Spain. Incidentally, these patterns inspired M.C. Escher's entire graphic career. M.C. Escher would pursue regular tessellations of the two-dimensional (Euclidean) plane for around two decades before a meeting with Anglo-Candian geometry genius H.S.M. Coxeter would give him insight into the hyperbolic plane and inspire the Circle Limit series.
Images suggest amorality in a way that words do not. I could explicate this further, but just consider why some pornographic subject matter can be freely written about but not depicted visually, even with drawings or computer-generated graphics. Consider the uproar over certain Dutch cartoons depicting unfavorable images of the Prophet Mohammed, the NEA funding debate over PissChrist, the importance corporations place on their logos, the controversy over graffiti (which I have always wondered about--is it the appropriation of private property for self-directed messages, or the danger inherent in confusing images and words? I think William S. Burroughs might have something to say about that.)
The primitive machinery for making sound is embedded into our bodies. And we have embedded it repeatedly into machines that we've made. Homo sapiens, the tool-making animal, started with drums and worked his way up to the sophisticated electronic machinery of the present day. In some ways, music provides a measure of our evolution which goes beyond that which is measurable in DNA. Music and DNA are similar, however, in that both are information-carrying materials whose transmission and reproduction provides human beings with tremendous pleasure and angst. And I would, add, both are also too close to us for us to ever truly understand.
The history of music, then, is an alternate interpretation of human evolution. However, do not think that this evolution is purely linear, or can evaluated by a simple metric like apparent complexity or chronological time. In the same way that unfaithful wives who eschewed morality for their own momentary pleasure (and freakish mutants who somehow managed to survive) ultimately strengthened the gene pool, listeners who break the law to access their favorite songs (and weird-ass microlabels who keep putting their freaktronic shit out) contribute to the process of musical evolution in a way that is difficult to define, unpleasant for many people to contemplate, and absolutely absolutely absolutely essential.
Anyway, I want to finish this by giving a gargantuan shout-out to the first fish with the guts to grow legs, walk out of the water, and risk amphibianhood.
Images suggest amorality in a way that words do not. I could explicate this further, but just consider why some pornographic subject matter can be freely written about but not depicted visually, even with drawings or computer-generated graphics. Consider the uproar over certain Dutch cartoons depicting unfavorable images of the Prophet Mohammed, the NEA funding debate over PissChrist, the importance corporations place on their logos, the controversy over graffiti (which I have always wondered about--is it the appropriation of private property for self-directed messages, or the danger inherent in confusing images and words? I think William S. Burroughs might have something to say about that.)
The primitive machinery for making sound is embedded into our bodies. And we have embedded it repeatedly into machines that we've made. Homo sapiens, the tool-making animal, started with drums and worked his way up to the sophisticated electronic machinery of the present day. In some ways, music provides a measure of our evolution which goes beyond that which is measurable in DNA. Music and DNA are similar, however, in that both are information-carrying materials whose transmission and reproduction provides human beings with tremendous pleasure and angst. And I would, add, both are also too close to us for us to ever truly understand.
The history of music, then, is an alternate interpretation of human evolution. However, do not think that this evolution is purely linear, or can evaluated by a simple metric like apparent complexity or chronological time. In the same way that unfaithful wives who eschewed morality for their own momentary pleasure (and freakish mutants who somehow managed to survive) ultimately strengthened the gene pool, listeners who break the law to access their favorite songs (and weird-ass microlabels who keep putting their freaktronic shit out) contribute to the process of musical evolution in a way that is difficult to define, unpleasant for many people to contemplate, and absolutely absolutely absolutely essential.
Anyway, I want to finish this by giving a gargantuan shout-out to the first fish with the guts to grow legs, walk out of the water, and risk amphibianhood.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
in elektrikalifournialand
it rains tarot cards
and comic strips
which skeletons hoard
to gamble with.
surrounding us all
in the atmosphere,
building-blocks of a language
occur,
but go unnoticed
by the naked eye.
a magickian with pure
obsidian scissors
comes to save phrases
trapped in the air,
the mazes of space
and ethereal doors.
the angels race by
in schizophrenic spaceships
as fragile as septimbre
(trying to remember
how october cavorts
with witches and saints
as she paints their eyes
like actoustic leaves)
and just because
a drum believes
invisibly rhythmic particles
float
around the searching
magickian's head;
he excavates souls
buried in airwaves,
fragile alphanumeric children,
aching and waiting to be cut out of time. the surgeon
must be insane
ly
precise, bordering each atom's
whispers
exactly.
we must all be
that readymade wizard
one time;
soon it will be your shadow's turn;
the mirror will be your question
to ponder.
silence will be your answer to burn.
and as the angels be/
come immortal,
they will explode
a prayer
for you.
and comic strips
which skeletons hoard
to gamble with.
surrounding us all
in the atmosphere,
building-blocks of a language
occur,
but go unnoticed
by the naked eye.
a magickian with pure
obsidian scissors
comes to save phrases
trapped in the air,
the mazes of space
and ethereal doors.
the angels race by
in schizophrenic spaceships
as fragile as septimbre
(trying to remember
how october cavorts
with witches and saints
as she paints their eyes
like actoustic leaves)
and just because
a drum believes
invisibly rhythmic particles
float
around the searching
magickian's head;
he excavates souls
buried in airwaves,
fragile alphanumeric children,
aching and waiting to be cut out of time. the surgeon
must be insane
ly
precise, bordering each atom's
whispers
exactly.
we must all be
that readymade wizard
one time;
soon it will be your shadow's turn;
the mirror will be your question
to ponder.
silence will be your answer to burn.
and as the angels be/
come immortal,
they will explode
a prayer
for you.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Tasha Yar is Data's girlfriend...
mister ock radio will continue later...stay tuned, ms. twitchy...i still love you, baby...
first off, honestly?, this is a hoax...star wars folk, trek folk, b5 folk, let's all smoke...(hahaha...I'm in looove with a hooo-kah...)..blade runner folk, naked lunch folk, twilight zone folk, spirit folk, shadow folk; my krazy kat people, clockwork orange droogs, nass el gwihane fans, moog synthesizer hackers, coast to coast am listeners...you know now that this is where you are at this moment...
colors, numbers, letters, vectors...this is the takeover, break's over, time for an extreme makeover...future of the DJ...my ideas are for sale on eBay...I take fake cash and reality checks...where spaceships crash for lack of human mathematics...go back to the basement, you need to practice...
my lord and saviour told me beware of double-agents...rapacious wolves arrayed in innocent lambs' raiments...matrix theory...nah, I'm serious...val valerian speaking at burning man...command line tweaking drum machine system...tension between the science and the fiction...believe me, the basis of a new religion...belly dancers, come forth...I will pay you what you're worth...
y'all are my network. I can only say thanks.
first off, honestly?, this is a hoax...star wars folk, trek folk, b5 folk, let's all smoke...(hahaha...I'm in looove with a hooo-kah...)..blade runner folk, naked lunch folk, twilight zone folk, spirit folk, shadow folk; my krazy kat people, clockwork orange droogs, nass el gwihane fans, moog synthesizer hackers, coast to coast am listeners...you know now that this is where you are at this moment...
colors, numbers, letters, vectors...this is the takeover, break's over, time for an extreme makeover...future of the DJ...my ideas are for sale on eBay...I take fake cash and reality checks...where spaceships crash for lack of human mathematics...go back to the basement, you need to practice...
my lord and saviour told me beware of double-agents...rapacious wolves arrayed in innocent lambs' raiments...matrix theory...nah, I'm serious...val valerian speaking at burning man...command line tweaking drum machine system...tension between the science and the fiction...believe me, the basis of a new religion...belly dancers, come forth...I will pay you what you're worth...
y'all are my network. I can only say thanks.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
Mister Ock radio 6.15.08
"Royal Flush--Big Boi feat. Raekwon and Andre 3000"
3000 shreds his opportunity so bad you almost forget how beyond the whole scenario is: beat, Raekwon, Big Boi. How can anybody hate on the mainstream music world when it gives us gifts like this? This is the million dollar check van Gogh never got.
"You Ain't Sayin' Nothin' (Remix)"--Fat Joe with Game and Lil' Wayne.
First off, the lineup of this thuggish troika is so mind-boggling, so unlikely yet right. Do I hear an Ennio Morricone spaghetti western sample/influence creeping in and sliding over the beat? Did I just hear Game say "That boy ain't from Cali, he from Mars/flow sicker than SARS/so into his cars/my junk sitting bigger than yours." like Canibus meets Rick Ross?
Tracks like this are why the RIAA wants the mixtape game to die so badly.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Invitation Beyond...
I just receive a password-protected kiss, (image: a mixture of ice cream flavors). I unzipped it and stepped in. To a lyrical cipher, c. 2008, inside some compact, connected subterranean space (beneath of course, a compact, connected surface--don't let the pseudonym fool you--we'll get into homeomorphisms later). The DJ mixed together various audio sources, like a cut-and-paste kingpin with an aluminum soul.
Nerds and thugs, all the kids had skills. Not just rhymes but also flows had evolved. Some white rawkus records backpacker stereotype kid actually spit a verse where the tones of each word formed a convergent series with alternating signs and middle C as zero. This cute Asian girl with silver hair and a strobe-light belly button ring actually dropped synesthetic hypertext into her rhymes so that when they hit your eyes, each word was linked to three or four more. I am auditioning actors to play these roles...you know you want to, give me a call...(Oh, and little fx-processor-insects wandered the airwaves, contributing their own unique visions to the aether...)
I just had to tell you this. My verses these days get mixed up with digraphs and dirty phone conversations, so when I stepped to the microphone, pupils dilating and refracting like an algorithm, xerox-monochrome butterflies swimming in my lungs, and began to let the old songs and stories out, the computers in the audience began to bob their heads, and the mutants sat rapt, tied up in each string. I could feel the kick-snare drum group shuddering in pleasure with every beat. I knew, at that moment, that my mind was real. Because I could not stop thinking.
Of you.
Nerds and thugs, all the kids had skills. Not just rhymes but also flows had evolved. Some white rawkus records backpacker stereotype kid actually spit a verse where the tones of each word formed a convergent series with alternating signs and middle C as zero. This cute Asian girl with silver hair and a strobe-light belly button ring actually dropped synesthetic hypertext into her rhymes so that when they hit your eyes, each word was linked to three or four more. I am auditioning actors to play these roles...you know you want to, give me a call...(Oh, and little fx-processor-insects wandered the airwaves, contributing their own unique visions to the aether...)
I just had to tell you this. My verses these days get mixed up with digraphs and dirty phone conversations, so when I stepped to the microphone, pupils dilating and refracting like an algorithm, xerox-monochrome butterflies swimming in my lungs, and began to let the old songs and stories out, the computers in the audience began to bob their heads, and the mutants sat rapt, tied up in each string. I could feel the kick-snare drum group shuddering in pleasure with every beat. I knew, at that moment, that my mind was real. Because I could not stop thinking.
Of you.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
i was right--we are not alone.
A few years ago I penned an essay entitled "The Future of the DJ." ( Calling it an essay is a bit an oversimplification; it was more like sci-fi music criticism disguised as an interactive manifesto--and vice versa). My recent studies have affirmed that I either presaged or influenced a whole generation of forward-thinking musicians and programmers.
I was really excited this morning when I got the brilliant idea to create a cellular automaton sequencer or drum machine, only to have Google inform me that someone else had been that brilliant already.
More than that, I've recently been discovering a whole slew of unique approaches to music at the crossroads of technology and imagination. Of course, we all know about circuit-bending and acid pro. The iBuzz, p2p file sharing networks, and the ubiquity of Lil Wayne sufficed to convince me that this world has many brave new frontiers to explore. A little further out, audio programming languages like CHUCK and compilations (/websites/movements) like Rhyme Torrents. But the increasing use of computers and continued presence of sex in music was so anticipated as to be almost inexorable. There are some really interesting hardware/conceptual pieces going on that shows the strobo sapien twitch-hop utopia may be closer to becoming a reality.
Consider the rhythm ring, made with ball bearings and MATLAB-generated drum samples, or its 'tangible beatbox' antecedents, the BeatBearing and BeatBlocks, or the even more primitive-yet-intriguing Analog Drum Machine. (Strangely, a lot of these links are inconsistent lately.)
Music has a profound impact on the way humans think and experience their realities and themselves. We're looking at music in a different way, exploring the 'crazy' as well as the synchronicity between humans and machines. Join us. You are not alone.
I was really excited this morning when I got the brilliant idea to create a cellular automaton sequencer or drum machine, only to have Google inform me that someone else had been that brilliant already.
More than that, I've recently been discovering a whole slew of unique approaches to music at the crossroads of technology and imagination. Of course, we all know about circuit-bending and acid pro. The iBuzz, p2p file sharing networks, and the ubiquity of Lil Wayne sufficed to convince me that this world has many brave new frontiers to explore. A little further out, audio programming languages like CHUCK and compilations (/websites/movements) like Rhyme Torrents. But the increasing use of computers and continued presence of sex in music was so anticipated as to be almost inexorable. There are some really interesting hardware/conceptual pieces going on that shows the strobo sapien twitch-hop utopia may be closer to becoming a reality.
Consider the rhythm ring, made with ball bearings and MATLAB-generated drum samples, or its 'tangible beatbox' antecedents, the BeatBearing and BeatBlocks, or the even more primitive-yet-intriguing Analog Drum Machine. (Strangely, a lot of these links are inconsistent lately.)
Music has a profound impact on the way humans think and experience their realities and themselves. We're looking at music in a different way, exploring the 'crazy' as well as the synchronicity between humans and machines. Join us. You are not alone.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
summertime
Golden, languid days for relaxation and research. Singsong flings that luxuriate and linger in the memory, like echoes even before they're gone. These be-anyone, go-anywhere seconds defy the physics of kisses and the silence of mimes. Dancefloors are born and make themselves known; we lay claim to this instant, we embrace in our own body-imperfect circus, we all know the words to this improvised chorus. We are rich for just a few tomorrows more, our pockets full of possibilities, souls soaked with sugar-water and sin. Goddesses know that we will squander this poetry, wandering through twilights where the wine knows our name, leaving everything impermanent as we float into each other's sleep. I will never forget you, I will never lose this story, the laughter and the rhythm of flickering pictures. Our curiosity, the glorious amnesia of midnight, your voice as it called out for angels untamed. When the sun comes calling, all regrets are erased. I wake up wrapped in the colors of this place.
Monday, May 26, 2008
dear mister plastic...
to those spies and spiders for whom all time is elastic, you may not understand the difference between the mid-90's and now. (wiretap://"cut-up cassettes converted to chrome necklaces for chrononauts. " ) let's consider two emergent cultural phenomena of the time--the DJ mix-CD and the real-time voyeuristic Internet broadcast.
As with most advanced technologies, the mathematics for the Compact Disc were in place well before the method was actually developed. The audiophile conspiracy-heads in the audience already know the story of the Compact Disc Group, a kind of industrial blackops project financed by an alliance of electronics manufacturing corporations. (The medium's victory was not as inexorable or instantaneous as it may seem in retrospect; it was around a decade between the time this project began and the time the compact disk made significant inroads into market share. Cassettes--hopelessly analog, linear (compare trying to access a particular data point on a cassette, versus CD's or even vinyl), and uncompressed--didn't really meet their Waterloo until there was a reliable, fast method for duplication, and automobiles routinely included CD player .) Of course, most of the major record production and distribution entities on the planet at this time--and today--were owned by these same groups that were pushing for consumers to adopt this new medium. How much of these companies' decisions concerning their musical distribution policies overlapped with a desire to sell expensive new CD players is an open question, rife for further research.
Anyway, by the mid-90's, it was clear that CD's were the wave of the future. DJ's had been recording their mixes for as long as they'd been mixing, but the CD invited an official re-division of the mix back into identifiable components. In mathematical terms, we were moving back from continuous to discrete. Anyone could make a mixtape by this point, but a mix-CD was at this time pretty much the purview of "DJ's", which we will (workingly!) define for the time being as people who derive an identity and/or seek profit and exposure from the selection, arrangement and manipulation of pre-recorded sounds created and distributed by other people.These mix-CD's were often labeled 'For Promotional Use Only' , and they did indeed serve as legitimate tools for DJ's looking for bookings, but they were also increasingly a form of independent radio and a source of exposure and income, which continue until today. Research DJ Drama's high-profile encounter with the RIAA a few years ago for a taste of where the genre/movement would go.
We are discussing this, however, because the listener's encounters with music is one powerful influence on his/her method of understanding and experiencing time, one of our primary constituents of consciousness. Imagine a planet where DJ Screw had immediate #1 singles. As Screw himself shows, listeners will often make physical, mental, and chemical efforts to re-orient their senses so as to place themselves in the timing of their favorite music. That's powerful shit--there are moments the bpm's matter a lot more than your political affiliation.
Around the same time, the worldwide web (which p.s. I invented. hahaha.) :: its early infancy. I won't lament the loss of the individually-run BBS. Mid-1990s. A slew of new websites with names like JenniCam. There were many others. People. Video. On all the time. Just a camera and a human life, however natural or contrived. The forerunner of reality TV. But a more authentic reality. Closer to Warhol's Prophecy. We, being human, wanted to watch the sex. But all of it was there. For some cost of time and/or money, you could just watch another person. From all the ink and traffic it garnered, it must have tapped some throbbing human urge.
(This was and is one of my favorites.)
Such sites still exist, but now for the most part they possess an undeniable nostalgia-kitsch factor. There are sites where hardliners trade their old favorite JenniCam pics and movies, the same way others discuss their favorite episodes of The Andy Griffith Show or their favorite 1970s professional wrestler. JenniCam and QuestionGirl gave way to MSN, YouTube and TV Shows, Big Brother, the same way the mix-CD mutated into DJ Clue, Gnutella, and the iPod.
If you grew up during that time, it can be hard to imagine that it was really that long ago--on the other hand, looking at the potential worldline that seemed to be emerging, compared to what we have now, it's kind of hard to believe that it happened so recently.
Andrew Octopus.
end transmission.
As with most advanced technologies, the mathematics for the Compact Disc were in place well before the method was actually developed. The audiophile conspiracy-heads in the audience already know the story of the Compact Disc Group, a kind of industrial blackops project financed by an alliance of electronics manufacturing corporations. (The medium's victory was not as inexorable or instantaneous as it may seem in retrospect; it was around a decade between the time this project began and the time the compact disk made significant inroads into market share. Cassettes--hopelessly analog, linear (compare trying to access a particular data point on a cassette, versus CD's or even vinyl), and uncompressed--didn't really meet their Waterloo until there was a reliable, fast method for duplication, and automobiles routinely included CD player .) Of course, most of the major record production and distribution entities on the planet at this time--and today--were owned by these same groups that were pushing for consumers to adopt this new medium. How much of these companies' decisions concerning their musical distribution policies overlapped with a desire to sell expensive new CD players is an open question, rife for further research.
Anyway, by the mid-90's, it was clear that CD's were the wave of the future. DJ's had been recording their mixes for as long as they'd been mixing, but the CD invited an official re-division of the mix back into identifiable components. In mathematical terms, we were moving back from continuous to discrete. Anyone could make a mixtape by this point, but a mix-CD was at this time pretty much the purview of "DJ's", which we will (workingly!) define for the time being as people who derive an identity and/or seek profit and exposure from the selection, arrangement and manipulation of pre-recorded sounds created and distributed by other people.These mix-CD's were often labeled 'For Promotional Use Only' , and they did indeed serve as legitimate tools for DJ's looking for bookings, but they were also increasingly a form of independent radio and a source of exposure and income, which continue until today. Research DJ Drama's high-profile encounter with the RIAA a few years ago for a taste of where the genre/movement would go.
We are discussing this, however, because the listener's encounters with music is one powerful influence on his/her method of understanding and experiencing time, one of our primary constituents of consciousness. Imagine a planet where DJ Screw had immediate #1 singles. As Screw himself shows, listeners will often make physical, mental, and chemical efforts to re-orient their senses so as to place themselves in the timing of their favorite music. That's powerful shit--there are moments the bpm's matter a lot more than your political affiliation.
Around the same time, the worldwide web (which p.s. I invented. hahaha.) :: its early infancy. I won't lament the loss of the individually-run BBS. Mid-1990s. A slew of new websites with names like JenniCam. There were many others. People. Video. On all the time. Just a camera and a human life, however natural or contrived. The forerunner of reality TV. But a more authentic reality. Closer to Warhol's Prophecy. We, being human, wanted to watch the sex. But all of it was there. For some cost of time and/or money, you could just watch another person. From all the ink and traffic it garnered, it must have tapped some throbbing human urge.
(This was and is one of my favorites.)
Such sites still exist, but now for the most part they possess an undeniable nostalgia-kitsch factor. There are sites where hardliners trade their old favorite JenniCam pics and movies, the same way others discuss their favorite episodes of The Andy Griffith Show or their favorite 1970s professional wrestler. JenniCam and QuestionGirl gave way to MSN, YouTube and TV Shows, Big Brother, the same way the mix-CD mutated into DJ Clue, Gnutella, and the iPod.
If you grew up during that time, it can be hard to imagine that it was really that long ago--on the other hand, looking at the potential worldline that seemed to be emerging, compared to what we have now, it's kind of hard to believe that it happened so recently.
Andrew Octopus.
end transmission.
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